Unbecoming

UNbecoming.

A couple days ago, while shopping in this adorable boutique, I held up a pair of jeans &, not so quietly to the associate 3 racks over, I said “is this the biggest size you have?”.

I let that roll right off my tongue & then my eyes got big 😳😳😳 like “holy BLEEP, did I just say that?!”

My eyes got big NOT out of embarrassment but out of sheer SHOCK that I WASNT embarrassed.

ALAS! AH-friggin-LAS!

It was like in that moment, I subconsciously decided that I am DONE with my own ruthless body shaming. I am OVER self-loathing about the number on the scale or the number stitched onto the tag of my jeans. & WOW, ya’ll…(smh)…liberating 🙌🏽

I don’t know who needs to hear this but it’s hiiiigh time we got the hell over our insecurities. Full stop.

Take my hand, sis. We’re done. 👯‍♂️

The truth of the matter is, cute jeans are cute jeans at every size; a day at the beach is still a blast even when you sport cellulite & stretchies &….I’m just going to go ahead & say it….a FUPA never killed anyone (there’s more of us walking around trying to hide it than not 😜).

We’ve got 6 months left of this year. I say we use it to let go of insecurities, of facades, of deplorable self talk; I say we shed all of the things we’ve become out of an (faux) obligation to be something we’re not &/or fear of not belonging; I say we let it all go until we’re left with nothing but our authentic selves.

So, here’s to a season of UNbecoming; see you on the other side, sis 💖

P.s. for all those with unblemished bodies & tatas still north of the border, please don’t misconstrue my sentiments! I’m here for you too, sis! Go on & slay, hunny 😘

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